I was still wearing my shoes. The staff was paid to wash the sheets after every visit, and by the point we left the field, I’d dressed and undressed so many times in the course of decontamination that I never wanted to remove my clothes again. I’d just wear them until they dissolved, and then spend the rest of my life naked.

Everyone thinks of them in terms of poisoned apples and glass coffins, and forgets that they represent girls who walked into dark forests and remade them into their own reflections.

That's the nice thing about insanity: evil people kill you, but crazy ones try to make you understand.

We were the ones on scene when everything went down. We weren't better. We weren't worse. We were just the ones standing in the blast radius.

I'm not body-shy -- it's hard to grow up in the Summerlands, where clothes are solidly optional, and stay body-shy -- but that doesn't mean I enjoy nudity. Naked people are, by definition, unarmed.​

No one wants to set out to be a hero, and discover that they've been a villain all along.

Nothing is impossible to kill. It's just that sometimes after you kill something you have to keep shooting it until it stops moving